While these scenes were going on, Mr. and Mrs. Gervase Piercey were very
differently employed upstairs. When Patty had finished her tea, and when
she had made the survey of the library, concerning which her conclusion
was that these horrid bookcases must be cleared away, and that a
full-length portrait of herself in the white satin which had not, yet
ought to have been, her wedding-dress, would do a great deal for the
cheerfulness of the room, she took her husband’s arm, and desired him to
conduct her over the house. When Patty saw the drawing-room, which was
very large, cold, and light in colour, with chairs and chandeliers in
brown holland, she changed her mind about the library. She had not been
aware of the existence of this drawing-room.
“This is where we shall sit, of course,” she said.
“Father can’t abide it,” said Gervase.
“Oh, your father is a very nice old gentleman. He will have to put up
with it,” said the new lady of the house.
In imagination she saw herself seated there, receiving the county, and
the spirit of Patty was uplifted. She felt, for the first time, without
any admixture of disappointment, that here was her sphere. When she was
taken upstairs, however, to Gervase’s room, she regarded it by no means
with the same satisfaction. It was a large room, but sparsely furnished,
in no respect like the luxurious bower she had imagined for herself.
“Take off my bonnet here!” she said: “no, indeed I sha’n’t. Why, there
is not even a drapery to the toilet table. I have not come to Greyshott,
I hope, to have less comfort than I had at home. There must be spare
rooms. Take me to the best of the spare rooms.”
“There’s the prince’s room,” said Gervase, “but nobody sleeps there
since some fellow of a prince--I can’t tell you what prince---- And I
haven’t got the keys; it’s Parsons that has got the keys.”
“You can call Parsons, I suppose. Ring the bell,” said Patty, seizing
the opportunity to look at herself in the glass, though she surveyed the
room with contempt.
“Lord!” cried Gervase. “Parsons, mother’s own woman----.” Then he threw
himself down in his favourite chair with his hands in his pockets. “You
can do it yourself. I’m not going to catch a scolding for you.”
“A scolding!” said Patty; “and who is going to scold you, you silly
fellow, except me? I should like to see them try--Mrs. Parsons or Sir
Giles, or any one. You can just say, ‘Speak to my wife.’”
“There’s mother, that you daren’t set up your face to. I say,” said
Gervase; “Patty, what’s all this about mother? Mother’s--dead? She’ll
never have a word to say about anything any more?”
“Dear mother!” said Patty. “You must always say dear mother, Gervase,
now: I’m sure I should have loved her--but, you see, Providence never
gave me the opportunity. No, she’ll never have a word to say: it’s me
that will have everything to say.--Oh, you have answered the bell at
last! Send Mrs. Parsons here.”
“Mrs. Parsons, ma’am--my lady?” the frightened little under-housemaid,
who had been made to answer, said.
Patty gave her a gracious smile, feeling that at last she had found some
one who understood what her claims were.
“What’s your name?” she said.
“Ellen.”
“Well, Ellen, I like your looks, and I’ve no doubt we shall get on; but
you needn’t call me my lady, not now,--for the present I am only Mrs.
Gervase. Now, go and send Parsons here.”
“Oh, my lady, Mrs. Parsons! she’s in my old lady’s room. I daren’t
disturb her, not for anything in the world; it would be as much as my
place was worth.”
“I see you are only a little fool after all,” said Patty, with a frown.
“Your place is just worth this much--whether you please me or not. Mrs.
Parsons has as much power as--as that table. Goodness,” cried Patty,
“what a state this house has been in, to be sure, when one servant is
afraid of another! but I shall soon put an end to that. Call Parsons!
let her come at once.”
The little housemaid came back while Patty still stood before the glass
straightening the edge of her bonnet and arranging her veil.
“If you please, my lady, Mrs. Parsons is doing out my old lady’s
drawers--and she has her head bent down, and I can’t make her hear.”
“I’ll make her hear,” cried Patty, with an impulse which belonged rather
to her previous condition than to her present dignity; and she rushed
along the corridor like a whirlwind, with her draperies flying. It was,
doubtless, instinct or inspiration that directed her to the right door,
while Gervase followed on her steps to see the fun, with a grin upon his
face. He remembered only now and then, when something recalled it to
him, that his mother was gone. He was not thinking of her now;
nevertheless, when Patty burst into that room, he stood in the doorway
dumb, the grin dying out from his face, and gave a scared look round as
if looking for the familiar presence he had so often encountered there.
“You perhaps have not heard, Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, with her sharp,
decisive voice, “that I sent for you?”
Parsons had her head bent over the drawers. She said, without turning
round, “That gaby, Ellen, said something about somebody wanting me”; and
then began to count,--“Eight, nine, ten. Three dozen here and three
dozen in the walnut wardrobe,” said Parsons; “that makes it just right.”
Patty’s curiosity overcame her resentment. She came forward and looked
over Parsons’ shoulder. “Six dozen silk stockings,” she cried; “is that
what you are counting? What a number for an old lady! and fine, too, and
in good condition,” she said, putting her hand over the woman’s shoulder
and bringing forth a handful. They were mingled white and black, and
Patty looked upon them with covetous eyes.
“Who are you as takes such a liberty?” cried Parsons, springing to her
feet. She found herself confronted by Patty’s very alert, firm figure
and resolute countenance. Patty drew Lady Piercey’s silk stockings
through her hands, looking at the size of them. She held them up by the
toes to mark her sense of their enormous dimensions.
“I could put both my feet into one of them,” she said, reflectively, “so
that they are no use to me. Oh, you are Parsons! Open the door, please,
at once, of the best rooms. I want to settle down.”
The woman looked at the intruder with a mixture of defiance and fear.
She turned to Gervase, appealing against the stranger. Many a time had
Parsons put the Softy out of his mother’s room, bidding him be off and
not aggravate my lady. But my lady was gone, and Gervase was the
master, to do what he would; or, what was worse, it was Patty who was
the mistress. Patty of the ale-house! Parsons looked at Gervase with an
agonised appeal. “They’re your mother’s things,” she said; “Mr. Gervase,
will you see them knock about your mother’s things?”
Patty’s eyes were in the drawer remarking everything, and those eyes
sparkled and shone. What treasures were there! Not only silk stockings
too big for her, but linen, and lace, and embroidered handkerchiefs, and
silks, such as Patty had never seen before. She went to the drawers and
closed them one after another.
“I see there are some nice things here,” she said. “We can’t have them
turned over like this by a servant. Some servants expect their
mistress’s things as their perquisites, but we can’t allow that in this
house. Lock them up, lock them up at once, and I’ll take the keys.”
“The keys--my keys!” cried Parsons almost beside herself.
“The late Lady Piercey’s keys. I’ll take them, please, all of them.
There’s a time for everything; and to go over my mother-in-law’s things
the very day of her funeral is indecent--that is what it is, indecent; I
can find no other word.”
“I’ll never give up my keys!” cried Parsons, “that my dear lady trusted
me with--never, never!” And then she burst into tears, and flung them
down on the floor at Gervase’s feet. “Take them all, then! all!” she
cried; “I’ll not keep one of them! Oh, my dear old lady, what a good
thing she has not lived to see this day! But it never would have
happened had she been here. You never, never would have dared to lift up
your little impudent face.--Oh, Mr. Gervase! oh, Mr. Gervase, save me
from her! She’ll tear me to pieces!” Parsons cried. No doubt Patty’s
look was fierce. The woman seized hold upon Gervase and swung herself
out by him, keeping his limp person between her and his wife. “Don’t let
her!” she cried, “don’t let her! in your own mother’s room.”
“Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, over Gervase’s body as it were, “do you
think I would soil my fingers by touching you? You thought you would rob
the poor lady that’s dead, and that nobody would notice; but you did not
know that _I_ was here. Instead of rummaging Lady Piercey’s drawers, you
had better empty your own, and get ready for leaving. Have all your
accounts ready and your keys ready; you shall leave this house by twelve
to-morrow,” Patty cried.
“Mr. Gervase, Mr. Gervase!” cried the unfortunate woman.
“I say, don’t you go and touch me, Parsons. I don’t mind your talking,
but you sha’n’t go and finger me as if I was clothes from the wash,”
said Gervase. He laughed at his own joke with enjoyment. “As if I was a
basket of clothes from the wash,” he said.
“Shut the door upon her, Gervase. I don’t condescend to bandy words.--At
twelve to-morrow,” Patty said.
Parsons went downstairs mad with fury, and was told the tale of the tea,
and how John Simpson had got his dismissal, and was never to appear
before that upstart more. “We had better all give warning afore she
comes to the rest of us,” said cook. But it was a good place, with many
perquisites, and as she spoke she exchanged with the butler a look of
some anxiety. Perhaps they did not wish to present their accounts at a
moment’s notice. Perhaps they only thought regretfully of their good
place. Parsons had carried things with a high hand over the younger
servants for years. She had not always even respected the
susceptibilities of cook. She had been her mistress’s favourite and
companion, doing, they all thought, very much what she liked with the
internal economy of the house. No one had ventured to contradict, or
even oppose, Lady Piercey’s factotum. It was not in human nature not to
be pleased, more or less, that she had found some one to repay to her in
a certain degree the little tyrannies of the past. “What would Mr.
Dunning say?” was what everybody asked.
The house was, however, in great agitation as the hour of dinner
approached, and the drama of the family was about to be exposed to the
searching observation of that keen audience which waits at table, and
which had all its faculties sharpened for this, its chief moment of
spectatorship. To have this mode and period of watching the crisis of
life in other human creatures, must be a great _dédommagement_ for any
ills that may pertain to domestic service in these days. It is as good
as a play, nay, better, seeing that there is no simulation in the
history that is worked out under our servants’ eyes. It was exciting to
think, even, how many places should be laid at table; whether Patty,
whose new dignity had not been formally announced to any one, and, who,
for anything they knew, might shrink from appearing in the midst of the
family, unsupported--might not withdraw from the ordeal of the common
meal, or be too much overcome with grief to come downstairs. Patty’s
mind was greatly exercised on the same subject. She had chosen from
among the unoccupied rooms those which pleased her best, which were not,
however, the prince’s rooms, but a suite adjoining which took her fancy,
the size and the fittings of which, however, suggested innumerable new
ideas to a mind open and eager to receive every indication of what was
suitable to her new state. For one thing, they were lined with
prodigious wardrobes: _miles_, Patty said to herself with awe, of old
dark, gleaming, mahogany doors, behind which were pegs and shelves
innumerable, to contain the dresses of the inhabitant. Patty could count
hers--and only two, or at most, three of these were fit for the use of
Mrs. Gervase Piercey--on one hand; and the long range of empty space at
once depressed and excited her--a vacancy that must be filled. In like
manner, the large dressing-table had drawers for jewellery, of which
Patty had none. And in this great space, where her little figure was
visible in glimpses in two or three tall mirrors, there was such evident
need of a maid, that her alert spirit was overawed by the necessity.
Then she had nothing that was needful for the toilet: no shoes, not even
a fresh handkerchief to dry those tears, which were ready to come at the
mention of her dear mother-in-law’s name. The temptation to return to
that dear mother-in-law’s room, and equip herself with those articles
which lay there in such abundance, and which certainly, it would harm no
one to make use of, was very strong. But Patty was half-afraid,
half-conscious, that on this evening, at least, it would be unwise so to
compromise herself. It was not an evening, she reflected, for full
dress, and her mourning would be an excuse for everything. What a wise
inspiration that had been, to cover her old dress with crape! Patty
undid a hook or two, and folded in the corners of her bodice at the
neck. It showed the whiteness of that throat, and gave an indication
that she knew what was required in polite society. And she drew on again
with some difficulty, over hands which were not quite so presentable,
the black gloves, which had not borne the strain of the morning, the
heat, and the affliction, so well as might have been desired. Before
doing this, however, she had written, by a sudden inspiration, a note to
Sally Fletcher, requesting her to come to Greyshott at once with Mrs.
Gervase Piercey’s “things,” and to remain as her maid till further
orders. And then she took her husband’s arm, and went solemnly
downstairs.
Colonel Piercey was lingering in the hall, much at a loss what to do.
Margaret had not yet appeared. The butler stood at the door of the
dining-room, with Robert, not John Simpson, at his side. Patty knew that
it was correct and proper for the party to assemble first in the
drawing-room, but she waived that ceremony for to-night. She came
downstairs very audibly, describing to Gervase what she intended to do.
“I can’t bear the gloomy library,” she said. “I don’t mean to sit in it.
We must have the real drawing-room made fit to live in. But all that
will want a little time, and, of course, your dear papa must be
consulted. I would not for the world interfere with his little ways.”
“Where’s father? ain’t he coming to dinner?” said Gervase, breaking into
this speech, which the audience for which it was intended had already
heard, noted, and inwardly digested.
“No, Mr. Gervase. Mr. Dunning things as Sir Giles ’as ’ad enough
excitement for to-day.”
“Well,” said Patty, “I don’t think much of Dunning after his neglect,
but he’s right in that. I should have said so myself had it been
referred to me. Early to bed and kept quite quiet--that is the only
thing for your poor dear papa. Are we waiting for any one?” she said,
looking round with majesty. _J’ai failli attendre_. Patty had never
heard these words, but they were written on her face.
There was silence in the hall. Colonel Piercey had turned round from the
engraving which he had been examining with quite unnecessary minuteness;
but as he did not know either of the strange couple who by a sudden
transformation had become his hosts, it was not possible that he could
give any explanations; and the butler, who had not the training of a
master of the ceremonies, and who had begun to shake in his shoes before
that personage who, in her day, had drawn beer for him at the Seven
Thorns--who had dismissed the great Parsons, and accused the greater
Dunning of neglect--remained dumb, shifting from one foot to another,
looking helplessly in front of him. He ventured at last to say, with
trepidation, that “Mrs. Osborne, if you please, is just coming
downstairs.”
“Oh, Mrs. Osborne!” said Patty, and swept into the room. She stood
looking for a moment at the expanse of the table laid with five
places--one of them unnecessary. “I suppose I had better take my own
proper place at once without ceremony,” she said, with an airy gesture,
half to Colonel Piercey, half to the butler. “And, Gervase, as your
father isn’t here, you had better sit in his place. We must make another
arrangement when Sir Giles is able to come to table. Oh, Margaret
Osborne! Is that where she sits? And here she is! I don’t say anything,
for we are a little unpunctual ourselves to-night. But I must warn you
all that I am generally exact to the minute, and I never wait for
anybody,” Patty said.